Harper's Weekly 1862 part 4 of 4

828 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [t)ECEMBER 27, 1862,
thert premises, and lighting upon all sorts of char
itable things to do. A brood of young ducks, al-
W«T* erratic, obstinate, and greedy, had squeezed
their mucilaginous little bodies through nothing,
and were out on the loose, their vigilant foster-
mother, "in a fine frenzy, clacking within the
•hut-up poultry-house. it was Dick's business to
open the door and give her lost ones to her cher
ishing wings ; and all the acknowledgment he got
was an unmistakable indication on the part of the
irritated mother that he alone had been the cause
of the separation. He delighted to stagger under
a load of fodder, taking, as high and invaluable
wages, the glad neigh of the expectant horse, or
the gentle soft low of the cow. He rushed into
the matutinal quarrel of the bantam-cock and the
great bnbbley-iock ; he coaxed with crumbs of
bread the shy little pullets, and covertly threw
handfnls of grain to the ostracized cockerels, who
dared not so much as look upon a crumb within
sight of the proud monarch of the poultry-yard.
Having meddled and messed in every thing that
tras going on, to the high delight of himself, if of
nothing else, Dick would return to the house, brush
and clean himself with scrupulous exactness, and
place himself ready to receive his mother's morn
ing kiss on his cool, rosy, soap-shining cheeks.
After that he began the real business of the day ;
he nursed the baby, made the toa, cut the bread-
and-butter, administered it. adjusted quarrels, ran
the messages, and took what breakfast he could
between whiles. When he had a few moments he
could call his own he roamed about, saving young
birds from remorseless kidnappers, rescuing p
pies and kittens from untimely fates, helping li _
maidens over high stiles, and assisting old women
to carry fagots of sticks, assuredly stolen from his
father's hedge-rows.
Dick poesessed one harmless propensity — never
to see a hill without paying it the compliment of
running to the top of it in so many minutes, and
speeding down to the bottom again in so many
minutes less. He considered it a duty he owed to
society at large, to be able to say in how short a
time society could approach so much nearer to
heaven.
For these reasons, and a thousand more such,
Dick's dismay may be comprehended when be was
suddenly required to exchange breezy hill-tops and
flowery plains for the high stool, matching the
higher desk, in a dusty cloudy cobwebby back
Bank-office, in a close d,ull unsavory street.
Dick began a remonstrance. For the first time
In his life there rose to his lips the murmur of a
complaint. The person upon whose ear the un
wonted sound fell was his younger brother : called
William by his godfathers and godmothers, Bill by
those who had no particular regard for him, or he
for them, and Billy by the fortunate possessors of
•what affections he Dad. Generally obtuse to every
thing that did not concern himself, he was visibly
startled by the unwonted moan, and kindly said,
under the shock of surprise :
' ' Come, come, old fellow I None of that."
" But I don't like the Bank, Billy. I am unhap
py ; I think I am dreadfully unhappy ; the smell
of the place makes me sick ; I get the cramp in
my legs from sitting on that high stool ; I am as
nervoui — " .
" Hold hard, Dick ; I won't have you say anoth
er word. How dare yon talk like that to me?"
" My dear Billy— ''
" Don't dear Billy me. When you know as well
as I do, that if you don't stay at the Bank / shall
have to go there !"
" Oh dear !" ejaculated Dick.
" Oh dear!" mimicked the fast younger brother.
" I wonder you have the heart to hint an objection,
Dick — especially knowing, as you do, how you hate
the Bank. Endangering your own brother I And
ou setting up for being a good-natured fellow,
oo!"
yo
to
\\
Dick said no more, but manfully bore up against
smells, cramps, nerves, and headaches, with the
mental comfort and consolation, " How lucky poor
dear Billy is saved all this I"
Time worked its own cure, and he experienced
In his own person the truth of that well-established
maxim, " Habit becomes second nature." He ex
ercised his peculiar vocation by doing a great deal
of other people's work besides his own ; by cherish
ing solitary and forlorn-looking spiders ; assisting
flies out or a persistent search into ink-bottles ; and
being generally kind-hearted to every thing and
every body.
He was universally liked, though vastly imposed
upon ; still, upon his gradual elevation, in course
of time, from junior of the juniors to head of all,
there was no voice but his own that hazarded a
doubt on the fitness of the election. He was a lit
tle uncomfortable himself lest he should have tak
en a place one of the others might have coveted or
better deserved.
At last assured that his abilities and position
•warranted the choice, Dick resigned himself to be
ing entirely happy, and — as a fall essential to a
state of bliss— fell in lore.
That his choice should light on one profoundly
Unlike himself was perfectly natural ; a young lady
of much beauty and many wants being exactly the
|>eing to appear angelic in Dick's eyes. Had she
been possessed of brains, or of sufficient capacity
to see into the depths of Dick's most honest heart.
she might have ruled there, queen and wife, and
her domestic kingdom would have ennobled her in
all eyes ; but, like a playful kitten, incipient cru
elty lurked in her prettiest ways. Her character
may be inferred from the answer she gave Dick
when he tendered her his all.
" Indeed, Mr. Richard, you are very good I How
yon.have surprised me I And do you really think
so well of me ? I never thought you really cared
a hit for me. I laughed and chatted with you be.
ceuse, as we all said, Mr. Kichard Blorage was so
good-natured."
"Good-natured to you, Ellen! Oh Heaven!
could yon read nothing more in my devotion?
Not the deepest, strongest, most enduring' love ?"
"You quite amaze me, Mr. Richard I Where
have you kept these feelings BO long?"
" Oh, Ellen ! Do not trifle with me 1"
"No! Not for worlds, Mr. Blorage! I am no
flirt. I am a frank creature, and always will be."
" I thought— I hoped— oh, Ellen I I would not
have dared to opeak thus, and lay bare my heart
before you, had you not encouraged — "
"Now, Mr. Richard, d^n't say that, I beg! I
am sure I am ebove that. Besides, mamma wishes
me to marry rather high. She wishes me to set
my younger uittrs a good example : and indeed
papa has said to me more than once that he would
never Buffer me to marry a banker's clerk."
" I am to be a partner in two years."
" Two years I I may be married long before
that. Come, Mr. Richard, don't be coat down.
We can always be the best of friends."
"And my wife, Ellon?"
I J' Ob d*w no I I real)} vender you. could ever
think of such a thing—so good-natured, as yon are.
Pray don't tease me any more."
Poor Dick's tender heart swelled and throbbed
with many tender emotions; but he really was too
good-natured to let any angry or bitter thoughts
divide it. He rallied his fluttering and bewildered
senses, looked round for his hat (an article that
always seems of great comfort to Englishmen in
difficulties), looked into it, and not finding a single
word in it to help him out, went away speechless
with a single bow. It was a bow worthy of Sir
Charles Grandison, and it was a far more natural
bow than Sir Charles Grandison ever made. There
was a quiet dignity in it, expressive of BO much
integrity and worth, that it even smote the little
silly substitute for a heart which had so mocked
him with a stab of misgiving.
Time, that never-failing plaster which heals so
many wounds, came to Dick's aid. He derived a
melancholy satisfaction from working twice as
hard as be had ever done before. He was at that
once odious office before the doors were opened,
and sat on his high stool for hours at a stretch, re
gardless of cramp. From always being* compas
sionate and good-natured fellow he became mor
bidly so: appearing to regard the whole of his ac
quaintance as victims to unrequited love, upon
whom it was essential he should expend a vigilant
care of the most forbearing and affectionate nature.
Not even the fast, worldly-wise opinion of Will
iam, Bill, or Billy could make him think he was an
ill-used man.
" She's a flirt, and no mistake. / saw through
her long ago, Dick. I always said she would jilt
you."
" You wrong her, William—you deeply wrong
her. She was right in her decision. She deserved
a better fate than to be the wife of a banker's
clerk."
"Pooh, pooh! Ha, ha! Why, yon have a share
in the firm already, and may call yourself banker
at once, and I hope to the Lord you will soon get
rich. It will be devilish comfortable, Dick, al
ways to be able to turn to you when one wants five
or ten pounds."
"Do 3Fou want a little money now, Billy? I
have no occasion to hoard money."
" The very thing I do want, my dear fellow. I
never was so hard up. I say! It's a great com
fort to me, Dick, that you didn't marry that sim
pleton of a girl."
" Hush, Bill."
"Well, it's a very good thing for yourself, then.
I'll swear she was a screw."
" Forbear, Bill."
" Well, it was an uncommon good thing for her,
then."
"That is my only consolation," sighed the good
Dick, as he handed his brother a bundle of notes,
which, true to business habits, he carefully count
ed over twice.
" Twenty-five pounds; thank ye, Dick."
H.
Bless us! Mr. Blorage has been a long time
walking up and down that dining-room of his.
Had the volatile Ellen at last relented that he
walked up and down with that elastic step ? No,
no. She had married within six months of blight
ing Dick—had married an Honorable by name, if
not by nature; but the title being of much more
consequence than the fact there is no need to in
quire further. If Dick's prayers could make her
happy she was supremely Meet.
No. Mr. Blorage was excited, because he was
dining in his own new, substantially built, elegant
ly furnished, luxuriously ornamented, house—a
house that had been pronounced perfect—a gem of
a house—a house that only wanted one more thing
to be absolute perfection. He was dining in it for
the first time, and he had (though naturally a so
ber man), under the pressure of such an extreme
circumstance, drank success to it, and health to
himself, j ust about once too often. Hence thought
was running riot in his brain like an express en
gine gone mad. Here was he, at the good and
pleasant age of thirty-five, an independent gentle
man, with fifteen hundred a year, honestly made,
and safelv deposited in the only bank that never
breaks—her Majesty's Consols. Besides, he still
held a lucrative and independent position in the
very Bank once so disagreeable to him. He was
not a responsible partner, he was only the trusted
confidential manager. " For, as to partnerships,"
thought Dick, " it would never do for me to lose
my money through the speculations of others. I
could not help Billy, or send little Maude to that
first-rate London school. As to my dear mother,
Old Grobus's legacy (1 wonder why he left it to
me ?) just fell in, in time to make her comforta
ble. 1'
Dick had grown rich( nobody quite knew how.
As he was always helping every one, perhaps he
realized the promise, "Cast thy bread upon the
waters, and it shall return unto thee a hundred
fold." He had made one or two fortunate specu
lations. He had been left a legacy by old Grobus,
a morose brother clerk, who had never given him
a civil word when alive, but had bequeathed him
all he died worth, remarking in his will that" Rich
ard Blorage, his heir, would be sure to spend it
better than he could." And Richard Blorage, first
ascertaining that there were no real heirs, had forth
with purchased one or two waste bits of land, be
cause the owners wanted to sell them, and because
no one but a good-natured fool would bur them.
No sooner, however, did they become Dick's than
they were discovered to be invaluable. The rail
way ran straight through them; the land wag the
very thing for building purposes; and, what was
pleasanter than all, no one envied Dick. Every
one said, " Serve Dick, Blorage right; he's a good
fellow, and it's his due."
And when he decided to build himself a new
house on this improved and flourishing estate, ev
ery one, far and near, entered into the scheme.
The plans were shown about, aa if the plans were
for a building of public property. The architect
Was received everywhere as a friend, the work
men were looked upon as part of the community.
The house grew, stone by stone, under the eyes
and minute inspection of all the neighbors. The
laying of the foundation-stone was a popular jubi
lee ; the roofing-in was nearly followed by a roof-
ing-out, so deafening were the cheers from the as
sembled multitude. The final completion of the
structure was so rapturously hailed by all Dick's
friends that it might have been supposed Mr. Blor
age had privately intimated to the whole of them;
individually and separately, that he intended to
make each a present of the achieved piece of archi
tecture.
Of course there was to be a house-warming—a
dinner and a dance; and it was thinking of this
identical fete, to come off the very next day, that
had set Mr. Blorage's thoughts off at express pace.
Not because his dinner wag to be so well appointed,
not because his wines (he knew that a little too
well this evening!) were unexceptionable, not be
cause the music provided was the best that money
could hire, not because his rooms were beautifully
decorated, his chintzes of the sweetest patterns, his
carpets Axminster and Brussels; but because two
out of the sixty invitations he had issued had been
accepted. Why two? And what two? Ilk the
present excited state of Mr. Blorage's brain he
could only have answered, " Upon those two hang*,
my fate—the fate of my house."
He threw himself into one of those delightful,
spring-seated sloping-backed softly-cushioned arm
chairs, in which our unlucky ancestors never had
the good fortune to repose. He took another glass
of wine, oblivious of having drank success to his
house already rather often.
" So, they both come! Lovely craatnres I Bill
doesn't like Fanny; he says she is like Ellen. Ah,
poor Ellen. I don't know which is the prettier of
those two cousins. Billy seems rather full of Flor
ence. I must find that ont; I must observe him;
it would never do to ruin poor Bill's happiness: I
know what unrequited love is. I am not in love
with either of the cousins at present. I was madly
in love with Ellen, but, you see, I got over it.'
(Who was there to see, Mr. Blorage ? Ah, that last
glass I) " It certainly is time I married. But I
shouldn't like to be served that way again—as Ellen
served me, I mean. Bill will have it she's unhap
py ; I hope not. Bill says I am a great fool if I
ever—if I submit—if, in s'hort, I am taken in again.
Did Ellen take me in ? I don't know. I don't un
derstand women at all. I believe every word they
say; I adore their sweet smiles and winning ways,
and I would not—nay, I could not—tbink ill of
them for the world". I suppose I am a fool, as Bill
says I ami. What a thing it would be for me if
some kind-hearted honest genius or fairy would
bestow upon the wallsof my house the gift of making
people appear just as they are, speak just what they
think, and be altogether as God and Nature made
them! When I was young, surely I read of a palace
of truth belonging to some fellow—king, I beg his
pardon—called Phanor. To be sure they got into
a world of difficulties, and were all more or less
miserable. But they were French people; whereas
a good honest Briton likes the truth, and WILL
speak it whether he's miserable or not."
Mr. Blorage spoke the last sentence aloud, with
great emphasis on the auxiliary verb; moreover,
giving force to his words by an energetic thump
on the arm of his chair.
" My dear Sir take care 1" said a voice in his ear.
The sound was like the tinkle of a little silver bell,
clear as a note of music.
Looking toward the sound the good Dick per
ceived, perched on the arm of the chair, a little
lady: who steadied herself, after his hard thump
on the cushion, by holding valiantly on to an elab
orately crocheted anti-macassar.
" I—I beg your pardon," stammered Mr. Blorage.
"Granted." said the lady. "Now open your
hand and hold it steady."
Always ready to oblige, Mr. Blorage did as he
was asked, and was wonderfully surprised that he
was not surprised when she took a flying leap into
the middle of his palm.
" Thank you, Dick," said she, arranging her
little crinoline, and putting on an air. " So you
want your house to be gifted with the power of
making people speak the truth, eh ?"
" I should like it," he answered, in some con
fusion.
The little lady shook her head.
" You won't like it. You will find it very an
noying. Neither your servants, nor your friends,
nor your relations will seem the better for it, Dick."
" I should like to try it for a little while—just
for one day," he stammered, in answer to the wise
forebodings of the little lady.
" I understand. Merely to enable you to select
a wife ? You fear to be made a fool of again, Dick."
" Yes, yes," he answered, eagerly. " Marriage
is such an awful thing. One does not mind being
made a fool of for a short time—but for life!" Dick
shuddered, and the little lady wag nearly upset by
the shock.
In the endeavor to save herself from falling she
unfolded a pair of beautiful wings, whose trans
parent lustre of prismatic colors formed a sort of
Glory round her head.
" How prett3' you are," said Dick.
" I only show my beauty to those who appreciate
me. My name is Verita.
" God bless the name," said Dick. " I don't
care about the enchantment of my house if you
will always be at hand to advise me."
" I mean to live with you, Dick; but as for ad
vice, why did God give you an intelligence to
guide you through every difficulty ? Why ask a
little odd spirit for advice when you have hut to
knock at the door of your conscience for unerring
guidance ?"
"True," murmured Dick; "but still—"
" I see you hold to 3'our own way, Dick, and as
I wish you to have a good wife I will grant your
request. But inasmuch as -enchanting the whole
house would be extremely inconvenient to you in
more ways than one, I will confine the spell to this
chair. But there are conditions to be observed—
two conditions—before I enchant the chair."
"Name them."
" The first is, that no one but yourself is to be
apprised of the power the chair possesses."
" Dear me," exclaimed Mr. Blorage, dubiously,
"would that be quite fair?"
" Simpleton I Who could you get to sit in your
chair if its power were known, Dick ?"
" Wouldn't people like it ? I shouldn't mind."
" I dare say you would not. But assent to the
condition, or the chair is not enchanted."
" I consent. You said, dear madam, there was
another condition ?"
"The second condition is, that whoever enters
within your doors must sit in the chair, and must
answer three questions before leaving the chair."
"But suppose people will do neither the one nor
the other?'1
" Compliance with the first condition I will take
upon my self to insure; the second depends on you,
as it is you who must put the three questions."
" What sort of questions ?"
" Pooh, pooh, Dick, don't give me more than my
shore of work. If you don't know the sort of ques
tions to put, in order to obtain the good for which
you have required me to enchant the chair, yon
ore undeserving of the favor." ' '.>
Dick would nave protested, but he was so fear
ful of disturbing the equilibrium of the delicate
little creature by over-earnest utterance that he
'only opened and shut his mouth.
Don't blow me away! I must be gone, though.
The night is rather chilly, I think." She took out
of an almost invisible pocket a shadowing sort of
cobwebby thing, meant, he presumed, for her hand
kerchief. Gracefully throwing it over her head,
and tying it nnder her little atom of a chin, sho
t continued: " Good-night, Dick. And good fortune
to this house! And may it soon possess the only
charm it Wants—a pretty wife for yon, and a good
mistress for itself!''
Before Mr. Blorage had time to answer, the palm
of his hand was empty, and the fair little creature
had disappeared.
ra.
Mr. Richard Blorage was never quite clear dur
ing how long a time after the spirit's disappear-
*-Tce he sat thinking or dozing. But the duiing-
om door having opened and shut several times
dnrinkthis period of Intense thought or doze, he
at length became conscious that it was not likely
to have toened and shut of its own accord, and
that it haoXprobably done so under the hand of
Penge, his bihler, his new butler, the most respect
ful and obsMjuious of butlers, who had come into
his service wiih a character so very unexceptiona
ble that he had almost felt inclined to thank the
spotless Penge for being BO good as to take him for
a master.
Mr. Blorage rose hastily and rang the bell.
Penge answered it so immediately as to justify the
supposition that when it rang he had once again
had his hand on the door-handle.
Mr. Blorage was about to speaV to the excellent
Penge, when he was arrested by seeing that mod'
est butler seat himself with much humility in the
chair his master had just vacated—the enchanted
chair. He was no sooner seated than hu appear-
ance instantly changed. His countenance as
sumed an air of much self-complacency; he drew
out from the depths of a mysterious pocket a snuff'
box, and he took a large pinch of snuff in a calm
and deliberate manner.
" It is my only vice, Sir," he remarkad; " I trust
it is not disagreeable? Will you take a pinch?
No ceremony.'
Villains, ruffians, rogues, and fast men, are
above being surprised; or, if they do feel any
slight attack of that weakness, they take care not
to show it. But plain, honest, natural creatures are
constantly surprised, and as constantly show it
Mr. Blorage gazed at his butler, open-mouthed
and open-eyed, and in the greatest surprise, until
he was suddenly recalled to a perception of the
case by seeing the face of the little spirit peeping
out behind the chair.
The Lady Verita had performed her part of the
contract, and had seated the butler in it by some
marvelous power. Mr. Blorage must now perform
his part of the contract.
As he rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through
Ms hair, and blew his nose, perfectly unable to de
cide what questions he should put to Penge, the
confident air of the man, shining through an obse
quious mock humility, moved Mr. Blorage to a
hearty and irresistible fit of laughter. Though he
was sorry for Penge, though he felt that he alone
was to blame for Pence's peculiar situation, re
strain himself from laughter he could not.
"Veil, Blorage," says Penge, with great self-
possession, " you 'ave a right to amuse yourself at
3'our pleasure: but you're drunk!"
"Penge?"
" Blorage! I ain't to be put out of the truth by
you. You're drunk."
"Drunk or sober, I think I am a gentleman,
Penge?"
" You may think so," returned the model butler,
with great contempt; " but / don't. My ideas off
a real gent ain't by no manner o' means the same
as yours, Blorage."
"And what are your ideas?" asked Dick, in a
hurry, glad to catch hold of so safe a question.
"My ideas," replied the model butler, rising with
the occasion. " are racers—out-and-outers—sport—•
life. Them s my ideas of a real gentleman, not
your slow games. Blorage, you're a muff I"
Dick blushed,a little, in mortification: but it
was clearly his duty to get this, his first victim,
out of the Chair of Truth as speedily as possible.
"At all events, I hope you are comfortable,
Penge? I hope that at least you like my serv
ice ?"
"t?o, I don't, Blorage. I am formed for enjy-
ment; and how can I know enjyment under a
mean-spirited screw that keeps the keys of his own
"But you-agreed with me, Penge, when I en
gaged you, that it was the most satisfactory ar
rangement for all parties. Penge, you said yon
preferred it."
"Blorage, I considered as it looked well so to
say; and laving heerd as you was soft and easy,
what I said to myself was, 'Penge I you stick that
into him, and you'll have the key before your first
year is out.' Which is what I expect, Blorage, or
you and me parts."
Burning to release the prisoner, Mr. Blorage
was racking his brain for the last question, when
a furious peal of the dopr-bell suggested a very
safe one.
"Who can that be, Penge?"
" That awful young scamp your brother."
Then, instantly rising, Mr. Penge said, in his
most unexceptionable manner, " I ask your par
don. Sir. I felt so very giddy just now, Sir, that
if I had not took the liberty to take a seat I must
have fainted."
"Never mind. Make no excuses, Penge."
" Thank you. Sir. I believe that is Mr. William's
ring, Sir. He is such a cheerful young gentleman.
Sir, that I know the liveliness of his ring." And
Penge disappeared with alacrity.
The good l)ick rushed to the chair, intending to
occupy it himself during his brother's visit. But
his brother was took quick for him.
"Halloa. Dick! What do you want with the
best chair in the room ? It is very unlike such a
good-natured chap as you to appropriate the most
comfortable seat."
He was in the chair! Dick sat down on the
edge of another chair and wiped his forehead.
William, Billy, or Bill, safely ensconced in the
magic chair, assumed a very rakish used-up indif
ferent sort of appearance; and the brothers were
silent. Probably William was uncomfortable in
his strange and novel position. Dick was racking
his brsin for three questions—three simple, harm
less questions, that should not commit the sitter.
The weather? Nothing better. Bill could never
compromise himself about the weather.
"Is it a fine night, Billy?"
" Rather too fine for me. I want to skulk off to
Barnes's without being seen, and I came here on
my way, partly to. bund mother, and partly to
twist a fi'-pun' note out of you." (Barnes's was a
DECEMBER 27, 18(52.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 829
disreputable gaming-place.)
"How is our mother?" i]
violent hurry,
" I thought Florence—" interrupted Dick, hasti
ly. "Florence be hanged! Do yon suppose I don't
see that yon are spooney npon Florence? But
lookee here, Dick; you want to marry; now, I
don't intend to let you marry. I'm not going to
stand your being thrown away upon any other
than your own relations."
" Come out of that chair, Bill !"
" I won't. It's a comfortable chair. I'm bent
on telling you my mind. My mind has been full
of you, Dick, ever since you began to build this
house. That's a suspicions gallery, shut off by a
green baize door. I said when I saw it, that means
mischief. He means that part of the house for a
Nur— "
" Come out of that chair, Bill !"
"I tell you I won't. As to your
ried, I'm not afraid of Fanny;
never stand a month's courtshi
ting mar
temper will
e'll show her
ed this matter
teeth in a fortnight. When
over in my mind, I said to/rfyself, ' Dick is safe
from her. But Florence.VP'said, ' may be danger
ous; therefore 171 pretprfd to be a little affected
that way myself.' "
" Here, Bill ! Take five pounds — take ten pounds
— but come ont of that chair I"
"I would htrve done it for less than that, Dick,
but as you are so flush and free of money, 1 11 take
the ten. Good-evening, Dick ; I promised mother
to be back to tea."
With this sudden change Mr. William took him
self out of the chair, and took his leave. Mr. Rich
ard — too well pleased to have got him out of the
chair to care for any thing more, and knowing that
his nerves were incapable of bearing further strain
— rushed up stairs and dived into bed. And, as if
fearing that the chair would pursue him even there,
and entice people to commit themselves, he pulled
the-bed-clothes over his head, and was fortunate in
being unconscious during the rest of the night.
interrupted Dick, in
" Precious cross. Bothering as much about my
goings on as if I was cutting my teeth."
"Are—are—are you in love. Bill?"
" Yes; with myself. What's the good of loving
any thing else ? I don't find any one so deuced
fond of me as to forget himself or herself."
THE BKBT OF THIS MANUSCRIPT HE HAD PUT IN
HIS HAT-BOX
IV.
WHP.N Mr. Blorage awoke in the morning he
was reminded by a slight headache that something
unusual had occurred; but he came out of his cold
bath as lively and fresh and full of spirits as if he
were the combined essence of two or three dozen
Mr. Storages. He pranced down stairs—his own
newly-built and Brussels carpeted stairs—like a
young colt philandering in a clover meadow.
This was the great day of the house-warming, to
be followed by events that were perfectly bewil
dering from the ecstasy of their anticipation. He
was brought back to a state of common human
bliss by a strong smell of burned wood or varnish,
and found that in making the tea (he had lost him
self in thinking how soon some fair hand might be
mskine tea for him) he was endeavoring to stuff
his little hot kettle (which phizzed and sputtered
a remonstrance) into his new tea -poy, while the
caddy appertaining thereto was catching fire on
the hob.
Remedying these mistakes with the utmost ex
pedition, in turning round he suddenly encoun
tered the chair, and suddenly remembered its fatal
property.
What was be to do ? How get rid of the chair ?
Should ho send it away ? Should he lock it up ?
Should he destroy it ? burn it? annihilate it? bury
As he seized hold of it, with the intention of per
forming one or other of these acts, he was conscious
of a shock; his arms fell powerless to his sides;
and a little fluttering noise made him look up.
There, on the head of a chair, was the Lady Verita,
her wings expanded, her tiny foot just poised on
the carved shining top of the chair.
" It is of no use, Dick," she said, her little voice
tinkling like silver music. "This chair was not
enchanted merely for your whim. Sit down and
listen to me."
Dick obeyed, and held out his palm. His heart
leaped with joy as the little lady sprang lightly on
"Lend me your watch, Dick, to sit upon."
Dick complied, and placed his watch with infi
nite care and gentleness for her use.
She seated herself gracefully, having folded her
wings. Once more drawing out her fleecy atom
of a handkerchief, she used it after the manner of
mortals; though Dick hardly supposed that any
thing BO infinitely delicate as her nose could stand
the test.
" Now, Dick, how naughty you are! You do not
use my gift as j-ou ought. Why were 3*ou think
ing of burning my chair? Simply because it had
done its duty in enabling you to see people as 0163-
really are, and know their thoughts ?"
"But I do not wish to know them."
" My dear Dick, infinite Wisdom has riven you
susceptibility, intelligence, and reason. You only
use the first. You are commanded to love your
neighbor, but your susceptibility should not lead
you into confounding all moral distinctions among
vour neighbors. Reason should step in, and ena
ble you to make a practical use of susceptibilitv
and intelligence. Do I make myself understood?
I have had to read up for it."
" Lovely and beloved little creature, I know I
am a fool, but let me reap the fruits of my want
of wisdom. I would rather be foolish for life than
entrap others into sitting in this chair."
" Dick, 3'ou require a lesson. Use it well, be
patient, be submissive, and all will end well, both
for you and for me. I hear your door-bell ringing.
Adieu, Dick. Be wise and prudent."
The radiant wings expanded, the little handker
chief was tied under the tiny chin, and as Penge
opened the door to usher in a visitor the little lady
vanished.
. "Be wise and prudent." The words kept tink
ling a little silver sound in the ears of Mr. Blorage
as ne rose and welcomed the visitor shown in bjr
Penge. His first essay at being wise and prudent
made him hand her (for it was a female) at once
into the post of honor—the Chair of Truth.
He was glad to perceive that his visitor was a
pleasant little mild girl whom he had met once or
twice at Dr. Evans's, the medical man of the neigh
borhood. He had a general idea that she was Sie
daughter of an invalid widow, and that she was
the eldest of a flock of brown healthy-looking chil
dren, to whom she acted as foster-mother, owing
to the inability of their real mother to do any thine
but lie on the sofa, and sigh for ease from pain and
poverty. F
He had so far noticed little Gatty Bland (who
Itf-tne-way, was twenty-three years old, perhaps
more) as to admire her eyes, soft and brown, the
exact color of her hair. As she now sat in the en
chanted chain he was surprised at himself for nev
er having notfcMI thai She was really pretty. Her
•WMt Hinocent face had a bewitching air about it
that peculiarly pleased him. And really, her tiny
hands and her .graceful movements strongly re
minded him of the ways of the little Lady Verita.
"Mamma lias sent me here this morning, Mr.
Blorage, to beg your acceptance of the loan of a
beautiful china bowl. There is not another like it
in England, and she fancied it would be just the
thing to hold a Trifle to-night."
" I thank her very much; but how did she know
that I was going to have a Trifle to-night ?"
"Oh, we know it very well. Yon give a ball
to-night, and from our house we can see the lights,
and faintly hear the music. Jenny and Albert are
to sit up to-night a little longer than usual that
they may watch the carriages."
'•Then if I accept the loan of the beautiful china
bowl, I must ask a favor in return."
" I will promise to perform it, Mr. Blorage, for I
feel sure you will not ask any thing that I may not
promise to perform."
" I ara proud of being so trusted. I should wish
to beg the favor of your company to-night, to see
how well the Trifle looks in the beautiful china
bowl."
"Ah, how I wish we could come! But we are
very poor, and mamma is too great an invalid to
take us out. We shall find ranch pleasure, though
in watching your gaj-ety from our window, and
we shall be delighted to think that our china bowl
has helped to ornament your supper-table. Mamma
was sure you would not consider the offer of it an
impertinence."
No. indeed! Dick was an adept in the happy
art of accepting a kindness in the spirit in which it
was offered.
"Mamma has had great pleasure in watching
the building of your house, Mr. Blorage. She said,
a good man is going to inhabit it. and a good man
always benefits a neighborhood."
11 Your mamma is very kind," murmured Dick,
a little confused, and beginning to blush. He was
admiring Gatty Bland so much that he had for
gotten she was a prisoner, and unconscious of the
frankness of her words.
" Mamma is very good, Mr. Blorage, as we, her
children, know. And I ought to return to her. I
promised not to be absent more than half an hour,
and it must be that now."
But though she looked distressed and anxious,
poor Gatty could no more move until Mr. Blorage
released her than the house could move.
lie wiped his brow, ran his fingers through his
hair, and prepared for action.
" And so your mamma is glad to have a near
neighbor?"
"She is clad that you ara our neighbor. When
it pleases Heaven to release her from trouble and
pain, and to begin our lonelier life of struggle, she
thinks that the sunshine of a good man's heart
may sometimes fall on her poor children in the
shade."
" So it shall, my dear, please God 1 But, Gatty,
you must marry.—Would you like to marry?"
" I don't know, Mr. Blorage; but I fear few will
care to marry a little plain girl, with a turn-up
nose, and a heart full of her own people, and who
wants a nomination for—"
" Have you ever seen any one you would like to
marry ?" interrupted Dick, pleased with his wealth
of questions.
'' Only one, and that is you, Mr. Blorage! Good-
by. I must run all the way home."
Finding herself released, Gatty sprang up, and
ran out of the room: leaving Mr. Blorage turning
from his natural color to white, from white to pink,
frompink to crimson, from crimson to purple.
"Poor little dear thing, that I could have been
so base and dishonorable as to ask her such a deli
cate question, when I hadso many safe questions
to ask—her age, her brothers' and sisters' names
and ages, her godfathers and godmothers—if she
liked new milk, cheese, eggs. Gracious Heaven!
that I should have dared to put BO preposterous a
question, and receive such a—such a—such a—"
Dick could not bring himself to name the quality
of the auswer. " But it's very pleasant to be so
undeservedly appreciated—to be liked and loved
for one's own sake. She is a nice little thing; she
is a pretty little thing. Her nose certainly turns
up; but I believe there never was a silly person
known with a turned-up nose. She is very grace
ful. She flitted out of the room like a bird out of
a rose-bush. I wonder what nomination she want
ed!"
For the first time since it was enchanted Mr.
Blorage looked complacently at the chair; but his
meditations were interrupted by a respectful inti
mation from Penge that his master would oblige
every body by getting out of the way, because the
market-gardener had arrived with his flowers and
decorations, the carpenter was waiting with his
nails and ruler, and the Mr. Gunter of those parts
was frantic to begin setting up his lights. So Mr.
Blorage got out of the way for the rest of the day,
and reappeared at dinner-time in due course, and
afterward became the observed of all obeervers, as
he led out the (in those parts) highly renowned and
celebrated Lady Fitzcluck to open his ball with an
old-fashioned country-dance.
Every thing had eone off well, up to the proud
moment when Mr. Blorage drew on his new kid
gloves for the (in those parts) eminently aristo
cratic Lady Fitzcluck. She was bulky, but she
was light in hand, and she and Mr. Blorage danced
with a spirit wortl^- of the occasion. Half way
down thirty couples, Mr. Blorage became conscious
of a circumstance. A stately old dowager was
seated, in the centre of a circle of chairs, in the
Chair of Truth. Howsoever it had got there, by
whatsoever mysterious agency it had been brought
there, there it was, with the'dowager in it. She
was encircled by a crowd, to whom she was hold
ing forth, and evidently in no complimentary
strain. Mr. Blorage rushed out of the country-
dance at the instant when he ought to have
paraded the (in those parts) highly fashionable
Lady Fitzcluck down the middle; he rushed back
again, and danced vehemently; he grasped the
hand confidingly held across to him in the execu
tion of the figure hands across, as if it were the
throat of a burglar: iu all the hurry, worry, and
confusion he must think (and could not think) of
three appropriate and respectful questions to put
to that terrible and otherwise immovable old dow
ager. With his responsibility staring him in the
face, he had hurled Lady Fitzcluck through a
narrow gorge of dancers, when an unfortunate but
ton of his coat entangled itself in the lace of a
lady's dress, and in the perturbation of his feelings
he went down the middle and up again, carrying
a long and tattered shred, that lengthened as he
went. Fanny's was the dress—Fanny was the
sufferer. But she looked 'up into his face so for
givingly, and her soft blue eyes so smilingly met
his, and her rosy lips spoke his pardon in such
sweet tones, that he mentally said, "Dear, lovely
Fanny, what an angel! What bflss fo be lOvefl by
Fanny!" But whefi Florence stepped forward from
among the dancers, with eager concern, her bright
cheek flushed, her dark eyes sparkling, and her
voice attuned to the gentlest tones of commisera
tion for the damage done to "dear Fanny's dear
love of a pretty dress"—when she gracefully begged
her partner to excuse her, " that she might pin up
the dear love's tatters"—then Mr. Blorage felt
very much inclined to repeat the above sentence
over again, substituting the name of Florence for
Fanny. Meantime all eres were attracted to the
horrible dowager in the Chair of Truth. Had any
Painter been present he would have gone on his
knees to beseech that dowager to sit to him for the
personification of a Gorgon. Mr. Blorage felt, aft
er all, that he could no more dare to ask her a
question than if she had been his Black Majesty
from below, arrayed in gorgeous female attire.
There she must sit until kind Fate steppe'd in with
three questions and released her. As he looked
hopelessly toward the door, he saw the little pi-
qnante nose of Gatty Bland showing itself in good
relief against a black coat near her. She had a
little laced handkerchief tied under her chin; she
went toward the dowager, changing the little laced
kerchief into her hand; in her plain white dress
she conveyed the dowager, all purple and gold,
down the room, ont at the door, and into the tea
room. He blessed Gatty Bland mentslly, and fin
ished his dance with high credit to himself, and
perfect satisfaction to the (in those parts) rather-
difficult-to-please Lady Fitzcluck. As soon as he
was free he flew to seek a partner, either in Fanny
the Fair or Florence the Beautiful.
They were together, and almost alone. They
were together—-horror I—in the Chair of Truth;
Fanny on the cushioned seat; Florence on the
stuffed arm. Florence was still employed in pin-
ningup the tatters of the torn dress of Fanny.
" What a beautiful picture; what a lovely con
trast 1" thought Dick, as he approadled.
" There, Dear 1" said Florence, with a remark
ably emphatic stress npon the last word; I have
pinned you up, and done the best I could for you.
Dear. But I am glad to see, notwithstanding, that
you are a monstrous figure, and not fit to look at,
Dear."
"Thank you. Florence, Dear!"
"Ah, you false thingf / see through your
meekness and your affectation, as if you did not
care about your dress. It is a pity Mr. Blorage
can't see you at home."
" It's a pity Mr. Blorage cam't sec you at home.
Aunt longs for the day when she can rid herself of
you: indolent, selfish, and useless creature that
3rou are."
" But Aunt comforts herself with the reflection
that she has not such a fire-brand in her house as
you are. Aunt can well afford to put up with a
little indolence where there is so much good tem
per."
" It is better to be a little passionate than sulky,
" Is it, Lore ? Mr. Blorage is the best judge of
that. We have all our tempers, and you don't ex
pect a perfect wife, do you, Mr. Blorage?"
"I am very imperfect nyself," murmured the
unfortunate Dick.
" Oh no, Mr. Blorage," cried Fanny and Flor
ence together: " Yon are every thing that is nice
and good-tempered. And this is such a love of a
house that no one could be unhappy here."
Here the duet ceased, and solos began.
" You would always be cross and fractious, Fan
ny," said Florence.
"And you would always be rude and boisterous,
Florence," said Fanny.
" For you are a virago, and you know you are,"
said Florence.
" For you are a hoyden, and you know you are,"
said Fanny.
" I am ashamed of yon, my darling," said Flor
ence.
"I am disgusted with j'ou, my precious,"said
Fanny.
" Ladies, ladies!" expostulated Dick.
"She has the vilest temper, Mr. Blorage!" cries
Florence.
" She cant speak a word of truth, Mr. Blorage,"
cries Fanny.
As Mr. Blorage turned hurriedly and appealing-
ly from the one to the other, each now exclaiming,
" Throw your handkerchief to me, Mr. Blorage!"
he lost his balance, rolled over, and rolled the
chair over. Picking himself up with'nil possible
dispatch, and turning to apologize, be found that
Florence, Fanny, music, lights, flowers, dancers,
Lady Fitzcluck, and dowager, had all disappeared.
There was nothing near him but the chair—over
turned—and an empty wine-bottle.
V.
"Thank Heaven!" were the first spoken words
of Mr. Blorage. His first act was to look for his
handkerchief, which he hoped he had not thrown
to either of the ladies. It was safe in his pocket.
" It must have been a dream," he next remarked,
ej-ing the chair dubiously. "Yes, of course a
dream," as he gathered courage from its motion
less state. " But a very bad dream," as he felt
encouraged to touch it, raise it, and examine it.
As harmless a chair as ever upholsterer stuffed or
gentleman bought! Gently he restored it to its
proper place.
A knock at the door. Immediately followed by
the appearance of the model Penge. It seemed an
agreeable and satisfactory circumstance to the re
spectful Penge that his master was on his legs and
awake. •
'' Shall I remove the things, Sir ? It's dose upon
nine."
" Do so, Penge. And I think I will have a cup
of coffee—rather strong, Penge."
"Yes, Sir."
What a relief it was not to see Penge sit down
in the chair I
"It's a delicious cup of coffee, Penge," said Mr.
Blorage, when it was brought, "and it so perfect
ly agrees with me that I think 111 take a run over
to Dr. Evans's and play a game of chess with him."
The sharp night air smote him with a sudden
giddiness, and every twinkling star appeared to be
closely embracing a twin star that twinkled with
still greater vigor; but he soon got over these de
lusions, and before he reached Dr. Evans's door
was quite himself. On the way, however, he took
himself seriously to task:
" How good of the night to be so fresh and fine,
how kind of the pure stars to beam down on me
so brightly, when I am a man full of evil and
weak thoughts. I harbored a design against my
fellow-creatures of the basest sort; and, to add to
my crime, it was directed against one whom I
meant for a wife! True, I know nothing of Miss
: Fanny or Miss Florence but the beauty of those
two cousins, and a general sort of amia'bility that
seems to belong to oil girls. I'll make it my bus
iness fo ffce more of bpttL and I'll try to be Raided
to a right choice at last?
Mr. Blorage was warmly welcomed by Dr. JEv-
ans, who opened the door to him.
" Now this is friendly. I have had a very anx
ious case, which has caused me much worry these
three days. It is happily past the crisis now, and
I was just saying to my wife how I should enjoy
your stepping in.
"I am heartily glad I came."
" Of course you are. You are always kind and
seasonable. When were you ever otherwise ?"
The good Dick followed the Doctor (who was a
voluble and hearty doctor) up the stairs into the
presence of Mrs. Doctor. But Dick was unable to
acknowledge Mrs. Doctor's cordial greeting by so
much as a single word; for there before his eyes,
seated on a little chair by Mrs. Evans's side, was
Miss Gatty Bland, her innocent little face peeping
ont of a handkerchief tied over her head and un
der her chin.
"You know dear little Gatty, of course?" re
marked the Doctor. "She is waiting for her mo
ther's medicine.—I hope you have given Gatty a
cup of tea, my dear ?"
Mrs. Doctor's face expressed a profound con
tempt for Mr. Doctor's unnecessary reminder.
Meantime Dick sat down. He awaited with the
calm composure of a victim of Fate for Miss Bland
to offer him the use of her mother's beautiful china
bowl.
She did nothing of the sort. In the ensuing
half hour she made no allusion whatever either to
cbina or to bowls, though the conversation turned
upon no other subject than his approaching house-
warming.
Dick was half sorry. He felt as if it would be
so agreeable to thank such a charming little girl.
If her mother had lent him her china bowl (he felt
sure she possessed a china bowl) he must have
called to thank her, and he felt a desire to become
intimate with the famils-. He might, perhaps, be
of service to them; was there any tiling—or no
thing— in that nomination he so nearly heard
about? He invited Gatty to the house-warming,
and anticipated her request for Jenny and Albert;
he was not at all surprised to find that she had a
sister Jenny and a brother Albert. But it did
surprise him to see how pretty she became when
joy_ flushed her cheeks and brightened her 63-08,
while several little dimples in the nicest corners
of her face discovered themselves as sue smiled
her thanks.
The very thing!" said Mrs. Evans; " a little
expect all four, ______.. ___________...
'' Only four! I expect eight at least."
"But, Mrs. Evans," whispered Gatty, "one of
us must Slav with mamma; that will be I, yon
know."
" My dear, / will see to that. I will step down
in the morning, Gatty, and settle it all with mam
ma."
"And toll mamma from me." said the Doctor,
" that I shall spend a couple of hours with her to
morrow evening. I want to study her case, and
I shall like a little rest between your dances, Blor
age."
"That is," said Catty, smiling delightedly,
" that you two are most kindly coinc to represent
me for that time."
"Just so, my dear. What! Are you off, Gat
ty? Stay. Well send our man Mike with you;
the railway has brought a lot of ill-looking people
about."
" Let me take yon home, Miss Bland/* said Dick.
" Oh! Thank 3-ou very much, Mr. Blorage. I
own some of the people frighten me, though I think
they mean no harm."
' We will have a game of chess when yon come
back, Blorage," says the Doctor.
What passed between little Gatty and her escort.
and whether any thing passed on the subject of
china bowls, nobody knows. The walk did not
last longer than ten minutes. My private opinion
ie, that Dick treated Gatty all the way with the
respect and deference due to a young princess ac
cidentally committed to his care. When he re
turned to his game of chess, what with the remain
ing fumes of that bottle of wine, the extraordinary
dream, and this odd approach to an interpretation
of it, it is certain that he was in a romantic mood.
He willingly listened to a long history of the
Elands, during which Mr. and Mrs. Doctor main
tained a laudatory duet very different indeed from
the imaginary duet between Fanny and Florence.
" I only wish," cried the Doctor, at last, " that I
had a son of thiity or thirty-five, with a good house,
a good income, and a good heart. I would recom
mend him Gatty Bland for a wife with all my heart
and soul, and he would thank me every year of his
life ever afterward, even though he had to marry
her whole family along with her I"
"Miss Bland," said Mr. Blorage, "spoke of a
nomination—no, by-the-by, she didn't—it was a
china bowl—dear me, what do I mean?—I think
I hardly know what I do mean I"
" You look rather wild, Dick; of course I can't
help you out. / don't know what you discoursed
upon in your walk; but there appears to me no
affinity between a nomination for the Blue-coat
School and a china bowl."
" Oh! that's what sbe -wants, is it ? Blue-coat
School! God bless my soul! Really a nomina
tion, eh? Blue coat! Ah!—Check to your queen!"
Notwithstanding that check Dick lost the game.
But he went home in a felicitous state of mind
that made him feel as if he had won the game. He
continued to repeat the word "Blue" to himself,
as if he were under an obligation never to forget
it. He went up to his bedroom chuckling "Blue;"
be undressed chuckling " Blue;" he sat up in bed,
after lying down, with a vehement " Blue;" and
his last recollection was a struggle to say " Blue-
nomicoatation."
VI.
Mr. Blorage arose in a contented and happy
frame of mind. The great day was the greatest
of successes; nothing marred the triumph of the
dinner, nothing marred the beauty of the ball.
Tbe hard-faced dowager sat in the chair, but she
was just as forcible and disagreeable as usual; no
more and no less. Mr. Blorage danced with Lady
Fitzcluck, and bespoke Fanny, and Florence, and
Gatty: for Gatty was there, demurely happy.
Trust Mr. and Mrs. Doctor for Gatty's being there I
Florence looked most beautiful. She was charm
ingly dressed in white tarlatan—three skirts—pink
ed—each skirt looped up with a mixture of white
roses and pomegranate blossoms. A wreath of the
same for her hair. Fanny was dressed in floating
robes of blue—less blue than her eyes. Her fair
curls were twined with silver leaves: she looked
like a nymph; Florence like a queen. Not tin
greatest gossip in the room could say which was
the favorite. Neither could the greatest or the
least gossip in th« room (Ji
moment the flftt Of both dei
age's horizon.